The Brand Ambassador for Magnises (the totally legitimate and not a pyramid scheme service that allowed users to pay $250 dollars a month to slide their credit card into a larger credit card) once said on Fox Business, “When you marry the affluent with the less fortunate, you get…the birthchild…that is hip-hop”. At Ja Rule’s Fyre festival—where trapped millionaires wearing $2000 Gucci loafers can be seen beating each other over the head with toilet tanks for the grease left on empty pizza boxes—this philosophy appears to have been kept in mind: Fyre Festival is super Hip-Hop. When asked for comment, the rapper who once levied a diss track at Eminem’s infant daughter did his best to ease the minds of the attendees.

“Fyre Festival was an important event to everyone involved,” said Ja Rule from the top of a burning pile of Fyre Festival-branded merch. “We remain committed to providing a positive experience for all of our attendees. Please try to stay calm until rescue arrives. On the bright side, being stuck in your emergency shelter for days without real food or water is a great opportunity to check out my new tracks!”

Ja Rule then threw several copies of his EP into the crowd like frisbees, striking one attendee in the forehead.

“I really do feel terrible about what has happened,” Ja Rule told us. “We were looking forward to providing a positive experience for all the attendees here, and obviously that didn’t pan out. But you know, I’m excited to show off some of the new stuff I’ve been working on! It’s been a struggle getting back in the game, and it’s great to finally have some people to bounce ideas off of.”

When asked about the specific prospects of his future musical output, Ja Rule could only smile.

“I’m really looking forward to the creative collaboration that will come between me and those imprisoned here by the sea. Hopefully it’ll help mend some of the hurt feelings caused by being forced to sleep in tents and eat nothing but cheese for a few days. As I said in the promotion of Magnises–unlock your city today! Hip Hop is amazing, because it allows us to speak to the disenfranchised, and now I have disenfranchised thousands.”

None of the 7,000 attendees trapped on the island could be reached for comment.

Adding that it’s great Hofstra has finally got some money to spend, Hofstra University Student and RSR Emily Baum said she very much looks forward to sitting her pallid, shrinking corpse on the benches outside the new Frank G. Zarb School of Business and praying that manna descends from the heavens to nourish her. Or, in a total dream scenario, that her University employer at least starts paying her minimum wage.

“I was flinging my way through the ABP garbage bins and wondering how I’m going to pay my utility bills when I heard the news,” Baum says, with a faint voice. “I almost dropped the cigarette butts I was saving for lunch, I was so thrilled! Finally, a place on this campus where administrators can have nice offices!”

Baum, whose lack of a car prevents her from working somewhere with better pay, thinks the school made a great choice.

“You know, Hofstra takes these decisions very seriously; they’re just so good at providing the right resources to the student body,” Baum says. “We don’t need new dormitories that have working facilities, sturdy walls, and a lack of bug infestations. We don’t need better food, or cheaperfood. We need $2 million dollar renovations of Fraternity hangout spaces, we need well-paid college presidents, and, most of all, this brand new building where Hofstra students can make the most of their administrators having really comfortable places to avoid doing paperwork on time. Hofstra just gets it.”

“Wow, really? That’s so nice of them to think of us,” said the current RSR as she compares prices of textbooks for next semester to the total cost of eating three meals every day this week. “It’s inspiring to think that if Hofstra could come up with 30 Million Dollars to spend on a building, maybe I’ll be able to make rent work this month?”

You’ve been hit by the analog bulletin train! Pass this onto 15 people who need to take a good, hard look at their disastrous, unbalanced life.

When everything in your entire whole life has gone to fuck and back, take a remember at this good speech from an extremely wise woman. Because she was wise, she was a professor. And because she was a professor, she gave a speech, to her class.

“Why don’t you all look at this mason jar that I have.” The class looked, because they were a good class.

“Here i am, gonna fill it up with sand.” The professor then poured enough sand into the jar to fill it halfway.

“This represents the ‘earth,’ your main priorities in life. Because without some ground beneath our feet, where would we have a leg to stand on, or a stand for our legs?” quoth the professor. The class nodded quietly in rapt approval.

“Now, class, would you say that the jar is full?”

“No, I’d say it’s about halfway full.” a student spake. “You might want to think about pacing yourself, as far as the sand is concerned, or maybe, add the larger elements in first, and the smaller particulates later, so that there’s enough room.

“You are expelled. Never question the unquestionable authority of the tenured professor.” The student was astonished at her doctrine.

What the professor did next was even more astonishing.

“Next, I’m put some pebbles on top of the sand. Next most important in life, are the little rocks that give our lives texture. Salt is a rock, and they say the “salt of the earth” is what makes life so interesting!” The professor then reached deep, deep, deep into her most deepest pockets, scooping out two heaping handfuls of gravel and coarse salt. Pouring the rocks into the jar, the earthy contents almost reached the top.

“Other important rocks are diamonds, which signify both everlasting love and child labor; the duality of man.” The professor then reached deep, deep, deep into an even deeper pocket inside of the first one. Producing a handful of diamonds, she poured those over top of the gravel, spilling out of the top of the jar like a silty parfait.

“Now, class, would you say that the jar is full?”

A few scattered students said “Yes. The jar is overflowing with precious minerals. The Swarovskian nonpareils shimmer in the fluorescent light, guiding us. We are content, and cannot, at this time, imagine an addition to this glass metaphor of our human life that would provide us with more satisfaction,” in unison; in monotone.

“Your manner of thinking is maddeningly limited. You are all incorrect. Expand your minds, and let’s get our full life.” The professor then reached into a student’s ear and produced 3 golf balls.

“Now, the golf balls, represent sports, leisure, and self-care. These are the least important things to have in your life; golf is for losers, leisure is for those without anxiety, and self-care is a fad diet invented to sell ad space on tumblr dot com.” The professor then attempted to balance the 3 golf balls on top of the glittering sediment jar, but the opening was too small for all 3 golf balls to rest comfortably against each other in a triangular configuration.

One of the golf balls fell on the ground.

Just when the class thought she was done, the professor did the most surprising thing of all!

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out 3 beers. After the raucous laughter subsided, one intrepid learner’s hand stood at attention.

“I get it, Professor! The true lesson, is that at the end of the day, you always have time left to kick back and enjoy a few beers with friends.”

Chuckling, the professor responded with a sage thesis.

“If you convince public safety that alcohol is an essential part of an extended metaphor for prioritizing your life, you can bring it onto campus.”

For Immediate release from the office of the Press Secretary, Sean Spicer. The following press briefing concerns the steps taken to create the Trump™ Wall, as well as the duties of the Press Corp and their expected treatment of the office of the Press Secretary. This press briefing is due for immediate release to all media organizations with a rating of “Not Shitty” and higher.

​​​​James S. Brady Briefing Room

3:05 P.M. EDT

Mr. Spicer: Sorry for the delay guys, it’s pizza day. I was supposed to kick this off with my pal Kellyanne. She’s really busy and is doing important business things, key business events and duties. So my goal is we bang out your stupid questions first today and then I’ll drop a vital piece of information as Kellyanne walks in right on cue, and then she’ll talk to you as your editors struggle to put together a half decent non-sensationalized story. So hopefully this all works out.

Before I take questions, I’m gonna shake things up – I’m gonna call on my New York Times buddies. Saw what you guys said the other day, alright. Not even gonna bite. I do so know who Hitler is. He’s my favorite golfer. If that’s controversial, then I don’t want to be PC. Sure, he’s not perfect, but who hasn’t had dealt with a little marital strife? We can’t all be Pence. So he cheated on his wife, at least he played an honest game! Great numbers, that Hitler. I remember when he won the masters, god I love the masters, golf is the only American sport. Don’t even understand why this was a story…making this a race thing when my favorite golfer is half-black.

Whatever.

Go ahead.

Ask the question.

Now.

NYT: That’s literally not anywhere close to who Hitler is?

Mr. Spicer: Okay.

NYT: …Actually, this is a great segue into our question is: what the fuck is wrong with you?

Mr. Spicer: I’m sorry? Do you not like golf?

NYT: Seriously, “At least Pol Pot just killed nerds with glasses?” What the fuck is wrong with you dude?

Mr. Spicer: H’okay then. It’s like that. Alright. Listen guy, I just work here, okay? There’s this assumption going around that I enjoy being around you people. You, in your weird ivory high road tower — you hacks at the Times are almost as bad as “Democracy Dies in the Darkness” over there. Yeah that’s right Washington Post, I know you snuck into this briefing. Maybe next time try to be a little less conspicuous and just leave the merch table in the van, hmm?

WaPo: Point taken…

Mr. Spicer: You all can’t just throw questions at me and expect that I’ll answer them, that’s a very New York way of looking at a problem.

NYT: But that literally makes n—

Mr. Spicer: I understand what you’re trying to say but I literally do not care. I just work here day in and day out while you take Buzzfeed quizzes on your phone, that’s right I fucking know about your phone CNN Mike. Do you think I have read a history book in my goddamn life? Do you think I understand the socio-economic crisis plaguing the global economy? No, I fucking don’t. President Trump has been in office for over 60 days now, and you think I enjoy any of this? I mean, I do because I used to work at a Dennys and its just nice to come home sometimes and not smell like syrup. Have you ever worked at a Dennys? Have you ever woken up every morning, rode your bike six miles, and then spent eight hours serving eggs in all-too-bright single-parent purgatory? I mean, my coworkers were actually pretty great but all that is beside the point. I hate literally all of you, I hate that you don’t care about my opinion in music. What I don’t hate is the American taxpayer, unlike you MSNBC Karen. Whatever. Press Conference over.

NYT: What?

Mr. Spicer: Thanks guys, I look forward to seeing everyone except the organizations I have now deemed “Kind of Shitty”. Take care.

I write to you today on behalf of my grandson, Ross Gesth. I write to you today, in this very public, real, and good newspaper, to deliver to you the news that you are finished. Ruined. My home doesn’t get internet, so I write to you now, you technological Pol Pot, from the local public library. I come here twice a week to keep up with the other world, that one Online, and I’ve gleaned from Facebook and WordPress and Ticker and Zomit that you have made an enemy of youths around this nation. Big mistake, Uber. Big mistake…you neo-Nazi.

My grandson writes of you often, Uber. He makes “statuses” online about the way you lure vulnerable youngsters into serving a rigid totalitarian state, and on www.RossGoesOff.wordpress.com he even outlines a plan to sabotage you with pranks, hijinks, and more serious ideas as well. You want to use an army of cyber-youths to take down the media in order to further serve the oppressive regime you’ve help put in place? So be it. My daughter’s son Ross will erase your website from his phone, and then he will become a full-time taxi driver. My handsome and righteous grandson will combat you in the very streets you terrorize.

I offer to you, through this good publication, an offer: Leave the young people of this country alone, cease your nationalistic rhetoric and your Constitutional injustices and, if you truly want to allay the gripes that Ross has alluded to on various online playgrounds and real-world playgrounds as well, stop employing drivers who take it upon themselves to decide what music is played. That’s indoctrination, and if it does not end I will be forced to take matters into my own grandson Ross’s hands.

Also, “surge pricing.” I’m not sure what that is, but Ross says on Twitter.com that it is “wack,” “so fucked,” and even notes them as an example of “some serious Nazi-level shit. Big, big bullshit.” Your fascist coup of LaGuardia airport hasn’t escaped us Uber. The eyes of the world are watching. Sickening.

To Ross you are a new enemy. Your betrayal – your empty promises of a fairer, better world, where no middle-aged man is denied the opportunity to make a little extra cash on the side – stung him hard, like the first round thwap of a switch from a time when parents had God’s blessing to do what was necessary. I remember that time. And I remember you, Uber. You’re nothing new to me. No. We knew you by many names: Stalin. Mussolini. Mao Zedong. We should have seen you coming, but how could we? You slithered in like all the others, cloaked in technology, innovation, and “progressivism.” You rose up on the back of the little guy, but you didn’t even realize that that little guy was my grandson Ross, who is 6’4”.

Responding to reports that Garden City just generally felt more pleasant to be around, authorities this Wednesday discovered that Adelphi University is officially gone. What used to be the mediocre campus is just nothing. We don’t know what is there, or if there even exists anymore. Whatever caused this, officials are still unsure, but also they don’t really care enough to put any more money into finding out.

The entire student body of 7,500 students have also seemingly vanished, but their parents haven’t filed any missing persons reports, obviously, since no parent can truly love their child if they sent them to Adelphi.

Hofstra University emailed the student body, confirming that their gross smelly neighbor school ceases to be, but the email didn’t seem to be solemn, and with Stuart Rabinowitz actually typing “see ya the fuck later fats!” The area around where Adelphi was has become a huge party scene for the Hofstra youth, while many white students at Hofstra have started doing séances in the space the “school” used to occupy, just to tell the Adelphi students that it still sucks in the afterlife.

Surprisingly, the shuttle to Adelphi stills seems to be running. Adelphi’s one positive quality was that they had the only shuttle that knew when the trains came in and arrived accordingly, a skill that Hofstra never seemed to achieve. The vanishing of the entire university apparently wasn’t enough for the school to give up their one good thing–the ability to leave there entirely, quickly and on time–so the shuttles continue. However, no one is ever driving, and nobody truly knows where the shuttle ends up. Scientists theorized during their break from more pressing, relevant matters, that the shuttles appear and disappear through a small black hole, or something, maybe. Similar to what Adelphi previously was.

It’s been a stressful season for the New York Islanders, the renowned hockey team known for playing hockey similarly to other teams. In a development which proved shocking to fans everywhere, moving the team and forcing them to play in the middle of a Brooklyn bar and concert venue — the Barclays Center — was not as positive an experience as everyone and anyone could have expected. This is not the end for Everyone’s Favorite Team When Every Other Sport is Off-Season, though. With rumors that the team could move to Queens, or possibly even the seventh circle of hell – Staten Island – fans across both Nassau and Suffolk counties aren’t holding their breath for positive news any time soon.

Up-and-coming businessman and my favorite blood-related uncle, Dominick A. Vito, might have just the answer, though. As it so happens, he came into a piece of property that is mere minutes from the Islanders’ old place, the Nassau Coliseum. And, according to sources close to the situation, the place is “friggin’ yuge.”

With amenities such as alcohol, my dad’s awesome jokes, semi-cold running water, and a pretty flat floor, what else could the team need for their new home? Uncle Dom even got that smell out of the carpet, so now it’s clean and fresh and ready for the blood of our least-skilled players, especially now that the other blood is gone. It just takes some seltzer; it really wasn’t that big of a deal. Have you met my uncle? If you have, you get it. He’s a hard-working man. I say that as a reporter, so now it’s a fact.

Angelo D. Vito, my dad and long-time bar-regular, gave a ringing endorsement of the establishment. “Little Dommy was never very good with the girls, but he’s got Miller on tap, so we all know who really came out on top.”

“Women!” continued the lone patron who is, just to reiterate, the father to a woman who is me. “Who needs em?”

Disgustingly, critics of my uncle’s plan have said that the team needs “a stadium”, and “seats” in their new home. Others, though, such as my uncle and his brother, see this as an example of Big Hockey trying to hurt the average fan.

“Remember back in the day when the average boy could go from playing in the streets to beating up the opposite team for millions of dollars a day? I want that shit in my bar,” said the younger of the Vito brothers, the one that’s my uncle. Objectively speaking, he makes a good point. Those days of opportunity – the opportunity for a young white man to break another man’s collarbone and be celebrated, rather than to be forcibly removed from the Roosevelt Field Mall – are over unless we support businessmen like my uncle, who have proven time and time again that they are the true lifeblood of Long Island.

Frustrated that his time to think is so often disturbed, a local cockroach—who lives under your bed—is reported as saying this morning that he thinks “you need to turn it down a notch” when it comes to “the fucking.”

“I’m not really even sure what they’re doing up there half of the time,” Timothy, the local cockroach told Nonsense this morning. “Doesn’t anyone have any respect for their neighbors anymore?”

Timothy informed Nonsense that the typical hours you “fuck very loudly” range anywhere from 6pm to 5am which we were able to confirm with the local snake that lives in your shower drain, Louis.

“To be honest, sometimes I don’t even know if there’s another person up there,” Louis said, coiling himself into a more comfortable position. “Sometimes it sounds like there are several people up there. Maybe they’ve got some weird freaky masturbatory habits going on, or there’s some sort of strange orgy ring at work here? I don’t know. It isn’t my job to know their business, I just want the noise to end.”

When asked if he plans to take any legal action, Timothy merely shrugged.

“All I’m concerned about is… well, I’m going back to school to get a law degree. I do classes online. I’ve got to be up really late some nights writing massive papers or doing loads of research, and don’t you think that maybe you could be a little more considerate of me?”

At press time, the local fly that lives in your pantry and the local rat that lives under your gross-ass washing machine were reportedly gathering other residents of your house—such as the termite that lives in your doorframe, and the centipede that’s taken a liking to your right slipper, which is weirdly always damp enough for him to be comfortable in—to sign a petition proposing your abstinence.

The “Ghost in the Shell” remake starring Scarlett Johansson comes out in two weeks, and expectations are high. The Rupert Sanders-directed film is set to be the biggest anime live-action adaptation since “Aeon Flux”. However, with fame has come controversy; many people are up in arms concerning the film’s Asian protagonist being played by a white Hollywood actress. Always at the forefront of both art and clickable public debate with a high potential for shareability, we, here at Nonsense Humor, are just as excited as you are, and so to gain some insight on the upcoming release we went to our resident culture expert: a weathered old man who lives by the sea.

Howard Daniels is a seventy-six year old lighthouse owner from a nondescript but somewhat disarming town somewhere in Maine (maybe around the place where Stephen King lives or something). We spoke to him about the film – well, he shouted at us from the top of his decrepit, slightly menacing watchtower, the light pointing out to sea through the haze like a ghost.

“Yeah, I’m dumb fucking stoked, my dude,” Daniels was quoted as shouting at our reporter from the parapet. “I read every issue of the manga when I was living in Japan after The War, and I loved the 1995 Mamoru Oshii-directed film. Artificial intelligence, man. That’s some heavy shit.” As huge waves battered the spire from the east, spraying our reporter with their scenic brutality and throwing him several meters into the air, Daniels admitted that he did understand the problem with Johansson’s role in the film.

“Yeah, I can understand why people are upset,” he roared above the surf, his voice the ocean itself. “It kind of feels like they’re taking roles away from Asian actors, which I can understand is broke as fuck. I don’t want to support that kind of behavior, you know?”

Daniels admitted that he will likely not see the movie in theatres for this reason, and revealed that he would “probably end up torrenting it or something, I dunno”.

With modern life being what it is, with it’s Twitters and Big Macs and Smartphones, and beautiful healing crystals, it’s pretty easy to get completely mixed up in the ancient trappings of astrology and all the secrets it holds. So easy, in fact, that most have never had their proper horoscope breathed all over them. Find your sign and feel my warm breath on your supple little neck sprouts!

The Craven

December 31st – ‘Til Next Year

You needn’t worry about the scorpion fish, Craven. I put that saucy little sawfish in a cage in the attic. It shan’t escape. So run freely into the eve. Take it. Take the eve and suck the sweet gelatinous matter from its bones. You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’? Vegas baby!

The Astrologer’s Children

July 4th, 1776 – The Day My Love Was Shot Dead

Pib? Barmble? What are you two still doing awake? You young lads best scuttle back into your crypt before The Dreamsmith shambles with an ambling bramble by you, Masters Pib and Barmble. Look, you two mean the world to me and I’m just trying to raise you both right. And as for your mother… nah, you know what? Just get in bed.

Beam Boy!® The Only Super Powered Beam Made Of 100% Real Boy!

The Future – The End of All Beams

Oh damn! Is that the new Apple Watch? Fuck can that thing cook turtles and shit like in the commercials? I am sooooo jealous. I would sever my left leg for one of those. Anyways, your horoscope says you should be on the lookout to receive a heavy, wet, leg-shaped parcel soon.

The Dreamsmith

When The Words Evaporate From The Pages – June 12th

Dude, can you slink into my crypt and scare my sweet sleeping baby babs? You’ll know the signal when you hear it. Thanks, I owe you dude. I’m gonna get you like a half ounce man. What? Yea of course I’m good for it, kind shit my guy.

Benjamin Devino And His Shithead Twin, Harrison

Born September 3rd, 2002 at 3:36AM and 7:26AM respectively

When are you two going to learn to grow up? You two are just havoc incarnate, ya shit melons. I mean, it’s not enough that you two financially burden your parents with your twinsmenship, but Harrison also took his sweet time strolling his way out of Mama’s baby palace. Frankly, I think you two have been living rent free long enough…

Green Pisces

Green February 19th – Green March 20th

Look Green Pisces. We get it. You’re green. You’ve really made that abundantly clear to all of us by now. Just give it a rest for a bit, okay?

Hoo Hoooo – Hee Heee

Catherine

You’re This Sign If Your Name Is Catherine. I Thought That’d Be Pretty Clear…

Hey Catherine, or Cathy, or hell, even Cat! Trust you’re doing alright today? I sure hope you are. But statistically, one of you is going to get hit by like, two different cars at once. So I mean… roll the bones and hope you’re lucky I guess?

The Scorpion Fish

Every Moment Of Time That “The Craven” Is Not

The conditions are perfect my sweet. I’ve readied the skies and soon the black ichor shall raindown. That foolish Craven is in Vegas tonight, getting sloshed and losing $200 dollars to a broken vending machine. You may reap what we have sought after for so long my pisciscene dream. Swim for us both.